Page 2 of Hunted in Holly

So late at night, Saint Nicholas was likely asleep. His guards were proving easy enough to outsmart, so it should have been simple to make my way through the expansive mansion to his bed chamber.

The first hint of an icicle sparkled in my palm, and I suppressed my rising emotions to quiet my own magic. I’d read all the stories, and done my research on how to topple a Saint. All I had to do was stake him through the heart with my ice, and that would be the end of the great Tyrant of the North.

Then maybe my people could rest in peace.

I exited the conference room into an empty hallway, and I stepped lightly on the long red rug that extended the full length of the floor. A soft rustle caught in my ear, and I darted for the first door I could.

Thanks to well-maintained hinges, I slipped silently into what was, fortunately, a dark closet. I stayed out of sight until the footsteps passed. Holding my breath, I waited a few extra moments to assure they had plenty of time to get far out of range. When I heard the sound of another door opening and closing, I exhaled slow and steady, then I slipped back into the corridor.

I didn’t know precisely where his bedroom would be, but I knew he was in another wing from the board rooms and cleaning closets. I still had a long way to go to reach my target.

Around a bend, I saw another guard at the end of the concourse. While I couldn’t get past him, I could easily sneak through the kitchen to get to the dining hall, which should be empty this time of night.

I slipped through the nearest door, then ducked into a dark scullery. I stayed low, crouching beneath the height of the sink and countertop, as I made my way through the kitchen. It was a large and empty commercial kitchen, with enough rows of preparation stations and equipment to house a small army who had to feed a large one. Dimmed bulbs overhead cast heavy shadows on every surface, offering just enough light to navigate, but not enough to discern every detail. Though I didn’t see any guards or servants, I stayed vigilant just in case someone wandered in for a midnight snack.

A clang reverberated through the space, sudden and loud and alarming in what was previously dead silence. My whole body froze, while my heart instantly accelerated to a heavy, hammering beat. I swallowed the thick terror that was rising through me like bile, and I foolishly tried to convince myself that I was being paranoid.

In nervous, jerking movements, I tipped my chin towards the source of the sound, staying low and otherwise still.

A disturbed pot swayed back and forth on its hook, clanging into the pans on either side of it. Every hit was another red alert for the castle guards.

I hadn’t touched it. There was no breeze in the room. But neither was there any sign of a guard, animal, or person.

I held my position, still and silent, no other option making sense in my mind. If I tried to run, I’d give myself away, and it was unlikely I’d escape. My only knowledge of the building was my vaguest memories, and that couldn’t touch a trained guard who lived here every day.

Alternatively, I couldn’t hide without making noise. These metal cabinets wouldn’t be silent, no matter how slowly and stealthily I moved. My fight-or-flight instincts warned heavily against flight, even if fight was unlikely to be much more successful. My only choice was to hold my breath and hope.

Several seconds passed—it could have been a full minute. I didn’t pick up on even the softest breathing or lightest footsteps.

Then I saw it.

A cat. A simple black and white cat wearing a red jingle bell collar, wandering across the countertops as it traversed a space it didn’t belong. Just a playful creature being a little rebellious late at night. I relaxed for only a second.

Just a cat.

I’d admit I was a little surprised that he had pets. Caring for sweet animals didn’t track for what I knew about the Saints. But my judgment aside, fair or not, I was grateful that’s all it was. I continued my quiet crawl through the kitchen.

I made it another few meters when a sharp pinch stung the right side of my neck with all the subtlety of a bee sting.

I swatted at the pain on instinct, only to have my hand snatched out of the air by a decisive grip. Panic hit my heart hard and fast.

Attempting to whirl on my assailant was immediately the wrong move, as my shift in position only sank the needle deeper into my vein. Everything was happening too quickly for me to stop it. I latched on to whatever information I could discern, burning in the image of the bright red, near glowing eyes of the man depressing the plunger on his syringe. I didn’t even get the chance to scream before he injected failure, unconsciousness, and a guaranteed death directly into my bloodstream.

Merry fucking Christmas to me.

Chapter 2

Sweet.

The smell of peppermint and chocolate was the first thing I noticed as consciousness returned to my mind. I was warm, and my cheek was pressed into something soft and smooth.

The sound of a crackling hearth registered next. Then it was the flickering light, barely visible through the red of my eyelids. I blinked slowly, orienting myself to both the light of the flames and my current situation, one sense at a time.

I was in a bed, and a weighted blanket was tucked neatly around my body. I tried to will movement—to rub my eyes or sit up—but as though I was locked in sleep paralysis, trapped on the cusp of a dream, I couldn’t seem to make anything happen.

So I just kept blinking, slowly clearing my vision until the room came into clear view and the rest of my senses started to catch up. The heat of the fireplace thawed my cheeks, and I watched the wavering glow of the burning logs through a glazed over mind, my head still slow to process where I was or when I’d gotten there.

Hadn’t I gone to the North Pole? Or was that just a dream?

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